


Skills Not Listed on His Resume

by hobbitdragon



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Gay Chicken, Homoeroticism, Homophobia, Implied Past Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Slight AU based on Rhys's first scene in the game, small changes made to canon, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon
Summary: So, imagine the scene where Hugo demotes Rhys, but instead of blasting him down to janitorial staff, he wanted to make Rhys his personal assistant so he could monologue at him all the time. And imagine a manipulative Rhys who knows Vasquez and his toxic masculinity a little too well.





	Skills Not Listed on His Resume

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: this fic utilizes the implication that there is sexual violence/exploitation going on at Hyperion as well as all the other forms of violence. None of it happens onscreen, but it's implied to have happened in the past, and implied that it could happen again in the future. While I really respected the game's avoidance of sexual violence as a theme, I don't actually believe that's realistic for a place like Hyperion. So there's this. Oh, and there's also a brief mention of racism.

“You’re reporting to  _ me _ now, Rhys,” Hugo gloated, eyebrows raised and lids half lowered. He shifted a little in his seat, ankles sliding together where he had them up on the desk--which had turned out to be bolted down. Having vented the entire room out the airlock, the desk was all that was left now. And the contents of the drawers, which had been locked at the time. Hugo had already had a locksmith in to open them. The chairs he'd commandeered from a nearby office.

Rhys’s wide-eyed face showed all the shock and horror that Hugo had hoped for--and better still, a rather pretty flush crept over his cheeks as well. That was  _ right, _ Rhys blushed when he was angry, didn’t he? Hugo had seen it often enough before. 

“I want you to know that the promotion that you worked so hard to get--that’s still coming to you,” Hugo went on, relishing the slow pace of this like a fine cigar. Rhys, seating himself in the other chair Hugo had brought in just for this moment, relaxed visibly, leaning back into the synth-leather padding with a smile. 

“Well, that’s a relief, ‘cause I--” Rhys started to say, but Hugo cut him off. He didn’t really want to listen to Rhys talk. Rhys went one of two ways when he was upset: he got cruel, or he got friendly. Kick-ass or kiss-ass, there was no in between with him. 

“But this is about more than that, Rhys! It’s about your future in this company,” Hugo said, drawing it out just a little further. “I know I took the position you were hoping Henderson would pass along to you when he retired. That’s tough cookies for you, I get that.” 

Rhys swallowed, the muscles of his neck flexing. He wasn’t looking at Hugo.

“Look, you wanna know the reason why I’m in this chair and you’re not?” Hugo stood, not liking being on the same level as Rhys--or a little below, because of Rhys’s upsettingly long body. All torso and arms and legs for days. Long fingers and long neck and-- “It's for the exact same reason why North is North and every spaceship in the universe is shaped like a cock.”

At first this got only the smallest flicker of response from Rhys, a little flutter of his lashes and jump of the muscle at the side of his jaw. But then he crossed his arms over his chest in a nice big obvious tell. Oh he was uncomfortable now, even beyond just the shock and horror of finding Hugo where Rhys had expected his skeevy corporate Daddy to be. 

Hugo slanted around the desk, half-seating himself on the front of it. Close to Rhys. That was a thing chummy bosses did, coming around the desk like this. Decreasing the literal distance between them and their underlings to imply that they wanted to decrease the yawning gap in value between them. 

“It’s destiny, Rhys,” Hugo concluded. “And men,  _ real _ men, men like me….make their own.” Rhys couldn’t even grow facial hair! He was nearing thirty and still had cheeks like a twelve-year-old. It upset something in Hugo to see a man like that climbing the ranks, with his slim waist and soft face and manicured nails. Hugo got his own nails manicured too, of course, he liked looking good, but it was different when it was Rhys. Rhys was actually _like that._

Hugo got back up from the desk and walked around to the window, wanting to put a little more distance between them again. Too close, too close.

“Now, you can hold a grudge if you like, no harm no foul, your thoughts are your own....” Hugo actually liked the idea of Rhys continuing to hate him after this. That pleased something in him, imagining Rhys’s bitter jealousy and impotent fury. Mind you, Hugo liked the idea of Rhys looking up to him even better, but hatred would be a tolerable second. “But bad things can happen when you swim against fate,” Hugo warned, turning and widening his eyes to show he was serious as he stared Rhys down. 

But Rhys wasn’t looking at him. Rhys was looking past him, leaned forward in his chair, mouth open in horror. It was a good look on him, the inside of his mouth showing all pink like that, but not the expression Hugo had expected at  _ this _ particular moment. So Hugo turned to see what Rhys was gawping at--and there was Henderson, skin all fucked up and frosty from the freezing process but his mustache still waxed into perfect curls. 

“Wow,” Hugo exclaimed, delighted. The universe was just backing him up today, wasn’t it? Everything was coming together in so many ways. “I could not have timed that better, that really helps dramatically make my point.”

Hugo turned away from the awesome vista though. He didn’t want to look at the corpse. It made him feel....not regretful, but a little uncomfortable. Henderson had been a racist who looked down on Hugo for his ‘ethnic-sounding name.’ And he’d been a total creep in other ways that had only now come to light. The contents of his desk (his bolted-down, locked desk) had shown that. Several of the items Hugo didn’t want to think too closely about, including a cluster of someone’s fingernail-clippings wrapped in a kerchief monogrammed with Henderson’s initials. Hugo had considered keeping them and getting them genetically tested to find out whose they were, but he didn’t need blackmail material on the man anymore. Obviously. The fact that this disturbing little package had been right beside the condoms and lube had raised Hugo’s hackles. And that was saying a lot in  _ this _ company. 

“My point is this,” Hugo concluded at last, because he couldn’t wait anymore. He liked the idea that this would play out with Henderson’s dead eyes watching them both--so long as Hugo himself didn’t have to see that. “This promotion is gonna take you out of the way of other people’s destiny and put you on your own path! And that, my friend--” Hugo hated it when managers had called him ‘friend,’ so it gave him a special thrill to be able to do it now, “is why I’m promoting you being my  _ personal _ assistant. And before you get any clever ideas, I’ve already had a contract written up saying that in the event of my death, you will be demoted to janitorial staff unless I myself have stated otherwise.”

Hugo watched hungrily for a response to this. For a second, Rhys blinked at him, lashes flickering. Then he uncrossed his arms and laid his palms on his knees, slumping back into his chair.

A second later, though, he grinned, ducking his chin as though delighted, and let out a little laugh that sounded like relief. 

“Damn, Vasquez, you really had me going there with all this dramatic lead-up,” Rhys replied. “But this is nice of you! Henderson never bothered to make it this official, just always had me running around for him without even a title beyond middle management.”

“You’re not--” Hugo began to say, and then smothered whatever inane thing had been trying to escape his mouth.  _ You’re not upset? You’re not angry anymore? What’s going on?  _

Instead, he seated himself in his own (much more luxurious) seat again. Maybe Rhys just didn’t understand the full scope of the situation yet. Denial was a wondrous thing, after all. Well Hugo could clear that right up!

“Henderson was a fool. He didn’t know his place! He needed lesson number one: humility.” He raised his eyebrows at Rhys and steepled his fingers, trying to communicate how very much this was something Rhys himself needed to learn. “But you! I respect you, Rhys. You pick things up fast, a real eager learner. I’ll expect complete obedience from you, and a willingness to do  _ whatever _ I ask, no matter upsetting.” 

Hugo dropped one hand onto the arm of the chair, draping it handsomely and lifting his gold prosthetic finger just a little to show it off. He let the other hand fall to his lap, cradling his balls. Rhys might not be able to see how nice and big they were behind the desk, but Hugo knew--and the way he raised his brows and looked at Rhys from under them would get the point across loud and clear. Hugo was going to ask for awful things, humiliating things. Fetching coffee, scrubbing the office floor on hands and knees, arranging sex workers, talking to the damn accountants. Fuck, the accountants were _weird._ Rhys had a friend among them anyway, didn’t? That little scrawny bit of fluff who often ate with him and the hot chick.

But Rhys just kept smiling, cybernetic eye glowing, spreading his knees. “Yeah? What sorts of things are you thinking of that you’d want me to do for you?” Rhys gave a little upward jerk of his chin, eyes running up and down Hugo’s body like a ski lift on a mountainside. “Henderson made frequent use of some of my skills that, shall we say, are not ones I put on my resumé.”

Hugo’s heart was beating too fast. Frantic. Yeah, he’d  _ meant _ to suggest he could do whatever he wanted to Rhys, but he hadn’t meant for Rhys to take it like  _ this. _ Hugo had wanted to put a little fear into the boy, that was all, make him learn his new position in things. He didn’t want Rhys grinning like a cougar and sitting there with his cock and balls pressing visibly against the inside of his thin slacks. Was the guy even wearing underwear?

“What are you talking about?” Hugo scowled, trying to instill some shame in Rhys. “Don’t pussyfoot around, I haven't got all day.”

“I visited Henderson a lot after hours,” Rhys said. “He and I were--close. Very close.”

That wasn’t an answer, so Hugo pressed. “Everyone said he was like a father-figure to you. Really took you under his wing.”

“Took me on top of that desk, too,” Rhys remarked, still smiling, eye still glowing, and there it was. As baldly stated as Hugo could possibly have wished. Or _not_ wished. Now he was here, he found that he didn’t want to hear this. “I think there’s still a jizz stain on the underside.”

Hugo flinched away from the desk at that, which meant his chair rolled back a few inches. Damn, the casters on this thing were well-greased. 

He covered the mistake by standing again and running a hand through his luxuriant hair. He wasn’t going to let Rhys rattle him with a little talk of--of _homosexual liaisons._

“Well, then. You’ll be an expert if I ever get tired of the girls I can hire on my new salary.”

“Yeah, I am an expert,” Rhys breathed, looking up at Hugo through his lashes now. “I especially love being smacked around and choking on dick. Is that what you want from me, big Daddy?”

Hugo managed to suppress the way his entire body recoiled. Rhys was not supposed to  _ like _ this. Hugo thought about punching Rhys in the face or the belly--but maybe Rhys would  _ enjoy _ that! Which wasn’t what Hugo wanted at all!

Or, well--the thought did make an awful little tingle run down Hugo's spine. He felt his own face heat up to match the furious flush Rhys had started this with. Rhys wasn’t blushing now. 

“You understand this company,” Rhys said, posture still relaxed and open even as his prosthetic whirred in the near-silent room. “You know it’s eat or be eaten, and you know what I had to do to get here. You put me right beneath you, so you must want everything I have to give.”

It occurred to Hugo then that Handsome Jack’s eyes had been two-colored as well. 

“Yes, I--” Hugo started to agree automatically, but then realized what that sounded like. “Well certainly I want a dedicated employee. Someone willing to make ugly choices and get their hands dirty. And given what it takes to get even as far as you did….”

Hugo trailed off, unwilling to compliment Rhys further. Thankfully, the awful tense silence that followed was interrupted by a call. Hugo immediately jabbed the button to answer it, not even glancing at the caller ID. 

“Jerry! Why isn’t my new car digi-structing in my office yet?” he demanded. Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized what an idiot he sounded like. The car couldn’t digi-struct in here, how would he get it to the launch bay? Drive it through the damn hallways?

The moment only went further south when it turned out _not_ to be Jerry from Requisitions but August from Pandora. 

When the conversation was over--both conversations--Hugo sent Rhys on his way. Rhys left with a backwards glance over his shoulder and a louche smile that Hugo didn’t want to contemplate. The door sealed him and his tiny little pansy friend away and left Hugo safe and alone.

Hugo sat himself down again and stared at the desk.

Well, that explained the lube and condoms in the drawer. And the ring gag. It didn’t explain some of the other items whose usages Hugo couldn’t identify, but now more than ever he didn’t  _ want _ those explained. 

For a moment, Hugo let himself imagine using Rhys that way. Looking out on the immense vistas of space as Hugo plowed that smug little shit until he admitted who the real man was. Plenty of the execs did stuff like that, and it didn't have to mean anything. It was about power, not anything else. 

Then Hugo wiped his sweating brow, got down on his knees, and looked at the underside of the desk. 

There was indeed a stain on the expensive varnish, a series of lighter blotches where something wet had been left too long on the wood. Hugo stared at it, galled into frozen stillness by the marks. 

When he got up again, he sent Rhys an echo demanding that he buy a new Vice Presidential desk and other office furnishings immediately. That was what personal assistants did, right? Look after the furnishings rather than despoiling them. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the cruel victory Hugo had wanted, but that was fine. Rhys knew his place, and that was securely below Hugo. 

....in company rank. Nothing else.

_ Goddammit, _ Hugo thought, and then went to the shuttle bay to get down to Pandora. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write Rhys successfully manipulating Vasquez's homophobia and power-tripping and this is the result. Which means I've written a Rhys who can be calm under pressure, read people well, and fake confidence he doesn't feel when he needs to. I'm well aware that's not actually backed up much in canon, as Rhys is often a flailing disaster with no pokerface. But, I like to think that to get anywhere in Hyperion, Rhys would've needed those skills.
> 
> Whether you believe Rhys is telling the truth that Henderson took advantage of him or whether you think he was just messing with Vasquez's head is up to reader interpretation.


End file.
